


Shtriga

by InkStainsOnMyHands



Category: Big Hero 6 (2014)
Genre: Creepy, Horror, I seriously made Tadashi creepier than the monster, M/M, Sorry Not Sorry, Supernatural Elements, Witches, Yandere!Tadashi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 02:28:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3711406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkStainsOnMyHands/pseuds/InkStainsOnMyHands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tadashi was nothing if not pragmatic. He had a problem, and he was going to solve it. While his heart broke for his baby brother, who was so tiny and frail, bundled in his large hospital bed, surrounded by beeping monitors and IV tubing, crying would not cure the boy of his ailment. Or, the other children that the Shtriga was feeding upon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shtriga

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Creepypasta with even creepier Tadashi. 
> 
> This was a lot of fun to write! I decided to make it a little longer and add a few more details that I had missed. I edited it the best I could, but if you find any mistakes, please let me know. 
> 
> This is based on the Supernatural episode "Something Wicked".

Tadashi was nothing if not pragmatic. He had a problem, and he was going to solve it. While his heart broke for his baby brother, who was so tiny and frail, bundled in his large hospital bed, surrounded by beeping monitors and IV tubing, crying would not cure the boy of his ailment. Or, the other children that the Shtriga was feeding upon.

Everyone would think he was crazy, and rightly so. Vampiric witches that fed on the life force of children? Please, they didn’t exist! Tadashi was merely projecting his grief onto an imaginary monster as a means to cope with the potential loss of his Hiro, or so they would say. Yet, the elder Hamada sibling couldn’t deny what was plainly in front of him. This wasn’t grief, or even an emotion, it was logic. The evidence was stacked against any disbelief; dozens of children would experience an inflammation of the lungs, without a disease present, every twenty or so years, in an ever-present cycle.

The most damning of all proof, however, was what he had seen with his own two widened, tear-filled eyes the night before Hiro became ill. A figure, about the size of an adult woman, shrouded in a frayed black cloak, crept into their room through the window. Slowly, silently, and seemingly suspended in mid-air, she approached Hiro’s bed. 

Tadashi knew that the figure had nothing but evil intentions for his little brother, could feel it in his trembling bones and sweat-soaked skin, but he was paralyzed. He could do nothing but quake until the springs of his bed squeaked in protest underneath him. He was frozen by an all encompassing fear, even as he saw the Shtriga lean her sickly body over Hiro’s. He was desperate to stop the infernal bitch from widening her rotten maw to take the bright wisps of his brother’s life force from his small mouth, but no matter how steeled his resolve was, his legs wouldn’t move.

Just as quickly as she had appeared, she disappeared without so much as acknowledging Tadashi’s shivering presence. Then, he remembered nothing but blackness. 

He awoke the next morning thinking that it had all been a bad dream, but when he attempted to rouse Hiro from his slumber, he discovered that his beloved sibling, his one and only true friend, was barely breathing. He cried out until Aunt Cass raced up the stairs and barreled into their room like a runaway freight train. They rushed the child to the hospital, but it was too late. His life force was already gone, and according to the extensive research Tadashi had done in the public library while he should have been in school, Hiro would soon die without it.

He couldn’t allow that to happen. 

Fortunately, after examining and recognizing the patterns missed by everyone else for more than a century, Tadashi found that San Fransokyo’s particular Shtriga was fond of eating lines siblings. It would steal the life force of a family’s youngest child first before working its way up to the older siblings. Their deaths would later be blamed on a mysterious contagion.

Tadashi formulated a plan, and set it into motion that very night. Luckily for him, he didn’t have to wait long. Just as he rested his head upon his pillow and closed his eyes, the witch used her exaggeratingly long, bony fingers to unlatch the window and enter his room. She hovered over to him, creeping forward over the edge of his bed until her face was but an inch from his. The moment she began to feed, and thus left herself vulnerable, Tadashi threw the blankets off of himself to reveal the antique poker in his tight grasp. He speared the witch through the throat, creating a sickeningly slick sound as the weapon was pushed passed meat and sinew.

The wrinkled creature gasped and gurgled as she clawed at the rusting poker, only for the flesh of her palms to rot and melt away in a black goop. Cruel satisfaction bubbled in the young Hamada’s chest as he watched the witch’s features twist in a combination of panic and pain. Tadashi’s lips quirked into a small smirk. “It’s concentrated raw iron, you hag,” he laughed bitterly. 

The Striga responded with a whistling croak. Tadashi’s smirk transformed into an all out, half-mad mockery of a grin. “You thought you could take my brother away from me? You were wrong. He’s mine, all mine, and you will give him back to me,” Tadashi nearly growled, his voice low and vicious.

Tadashi forced the poker upwards until the hag’s throat gave way and parted. When he reached her thin chin, he pulled the poker from her, and the noise it made was both nauseating and satisfying. She fell to the floor with a loud plop. He climbed out of bed with precise, careful movements and stood over the body of the creature still fighting for its life.

Tadashi tsked. He tilted his head to one side thoughtfully and took in the way the monster’s dark eyes reflected the fear he had felt but a night ago. His grip tightened on the iron rod.

“Hiro is mine to touch, to play with, to have, to hold. He’s mine and I’m his. Trying to tear us apart? Hm, that was your mistake,” he contemplated beneath his breath. With one quick movement, he brought the end of his weapon between the witch’s eyes, and laughed maniacally as her body evaporated into dust. It seeped into the floorboards until there was nothing left. 

Tadashi felt triumphant and powerful. He had done it! He had corrected the mistake he had made. Hiro would be safe. 

In the darkness of his room, re-wrapped in warm blankets, drifting into an easy slumber, he vowed to always keep his beloved baby brother from harm. Tadashi would be his guardian, his knight-in-shining-armor, the best older brother he could be. 

The next morning, Hiro returned home and into Tadashi’s awaiting arms, healthy as could be.


End file.
